


the sky is a landfill

by oryx



Category: Danball Senki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:53:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ren continues. Takuya falters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sky is a landfill

**Author's Note:**

> rated M just to be safe??  
> (also it's a WIP & i have a pretty bad track record with those so i apologize in advance if this is never finished)

In his mind, it goes like this:

 

Saturn hits its target. The leaders of the world die, and he dies along with them, because there is nothing for him here and perhaps there never has been. The few that remember him will hate him for a time, as society begins to collapse around them. The entire wretched system will crumble to pieces and they will hate him, because it will all be his fault.

 

But eventually, he knows, things will change. Everything he despises – silver-tongued politicians lining their pockets, shadowy corporations peddling fear – will be little more than dust in the wind, and the next generation will step forward to build a new and better world. A new order will be established, a simpler way of being, without any of the lies or greed or pettiness. War will cease. Prejudice and inequality will fade away. And those that once cursed his name will realize, finally, the error of their ways.

 

“Hiyama Ren,” they’ll say, “was a man who did what had to be done.”

 

It is only when Ban stands in front of him, desperation in his eyes, pleading with him to please, please stop this, that Ren feels the first stirrings of hesitation.

 

“Men shouldn’t play God,” his father used to say. He said it laughingly, smiling in that easy way of his. Just a joke. But all the same the words stuck with Ren, coming back to haunt him after his father’s death, echoing through his mind over and over again like a broken record.

 

Men shouldn’t play God.

 

So who is he to bring about Armageddon?

 

.

 

.

 

He tries to push Ban away.

 

He tries, but the boy seems to sense his intentions, grabbing him by the wrist at the very last second. The connector tunnel is breaking away from Saturn. Wind whips at Ren’s hair, stings his eyes, steals away his breath. Ban digs his heels into the threshold of the tunnel, pulling with all his might, trying to bring Ren with him. But in the end he is just a child, and even the strength granted by adrenaline is not enough to help him here. He lets out a muffled sob, tears dripping down his chin. His fingernails dig into Ren’s skin, clawing and scraping and drawing blood as he tries desperately to hold on.

 

“Let me go,” Ren says calmly, raising his voice over the sound of Saturn’s collapse.

 

“No,” Ban chokes out, but he’s losing his grip all the same. “No, I won’t, I won’t – ”

 

And then there is a hand reaching past Ban, snaking out to grab Ren by the collar, and he is being pulled into the tunnel. Into safety. The person – he knows their voice and yet doesn’t, in this moment – is shouting at him, asking him “why” again and again but he doesn’t understand their words. They are shaking him, holding him by the shoulders with a grip like a vice. He looks at them and their face is a blur, but when he stares at his own arms he can see every vein pulsing beneath the skin. His heartbeat is thudding in his chest and the pain in his leg is deep and real and he feels, suddenly, a sense of terrible loss. His hands begin to tremble. There is a scream building in the back of his throat.

 

This is all wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. So many parts of his plan changed over the years, so many pieces of the puzzle altered and rearranged to better fit his purposes. But throughout it all there was one thing that always, _always_ remained the same:

 

In the end, he was supposed to die.

 

(And now even that has slipped through his fingers, and all he feels is numb.)

 

.

 

.

 

He wakes in an unfamiliar room, breathing hard as the memories come back to him.

 

A hospital would make sense, in this situation. Even a prison would be understandable. And yet this room resembles neither – the bed beneath him soft, the walls painted a pleasant shade of dark green, the furniture an interesting mix of antique wood and sleek modern pieces without a hint of wear.

 

Ren tries to sit up and is hit by a jolt of pain in his left leg and a low, dull throbbing in the back of his skull. A wave of nausea washes over him and he promptly lies down again. He can’t have been out for too long if his injuries still ache in such a way. He lies there for a time, trying to collect himself, but is distracted by the sound of the door opening.

 

“Ah,” he murmurs. “I should’ve guessed. This is your apartment, isn’t it?”

 

Takuya says nothing. His eyes are flinty as he walks into the room and sets a tray of food down on the bedside table.

 

“I came here once, didn’t I?” Ren smiles up at him. “A few years ago? We had just established the Seekers, and I convinced you to celebrate with a couple drinks… You were a rather sentimental drunk, if I recall correctly.”

 

Takuya pointedly ignores him. “This is for the pain,” he says, placing a small white pill on the table as well. His words are tight, controlled, but Ren can hear a faint tremor to them, buried deep down.

 

He turns to walk away, posture tense as he reaches once more for the door.

 

“You should have let me die,” Ren says softly.

 

Takuya pauses mid-step. For a long, quiet moment he does not speak.

 

“Yes,” he says finally, and his voice holds a kind of hollow weariness. “Perhaps I should have.”

 

.

 

.

 

It is evening by the time Ren wakes again. Takuya is sitting by his bedside, staring out the window with a vacant expression, hands folded loosely in his lap. There are dark circles beneath his eyes.

 

“So… Why am I here and not shackled to a bed in the nearest military hospital?” Ren asks. “Did you strike a deal with someone?”

 

Takuya glances down at him, trying and failing to look contemptuous.

 

“… I asked the rest of the Seekers to keep quiet about your involvement and location, at least for a time. Your ankle is badly sprained, and the doctor I called in informed me that it will take approximately three weeks for you to be fully recovered. Once those three weeks are up I will be handing you over personally to Prime Minister Zaizen, along with a full report of your known crimes.”

 

“You’re dodging the question,” Ren says, feeling a smile tug at his lips. “I asked ‘why.’”

 

“I have my reasons,” Takuya says coolly. He folds his arms, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt.

 

“Oh,” Ren murmurs. “I see. You want my last few weeks in the outside world to be ‘pleasant ones,’ don’t you?”

 

Takuya says nothing, but the line of his jaw goes taut and tense.

 

“I’m right, aren’t I? That’s thoughtful of you, Takuya. Adorable, even. Especially considering how little time I’ll have left afterwards.” He watches as Takuya’s eyes seem to darken. “They’ll probably rush my trial, you know. Terrorists usually get pushed to the top of the list. And they don’t hand out the death penalty much anymore, but… All those _people_ , Takuya. Civilians are one thing, but politicians? _Leaders_? Just a little bit more, and the world as we know it could’ve been blown to bits! No, no, Hiyama Ren is much too dangerous to live, I think. They’ll have to take care of me the old-fashioned way.”

 

“Be quiet,” Takuya whispers.

 

“They retired the hanging method of execution a while back,” Ren continues, “and the electric chair never really caught on here in Japan… I suppose it’ll be lethal injection, then? I can’t say I dislike the idea. Just… slipping away? ‘Going gentle into that good night’? It’s rather nice, once you stop and think about it – ”

 

“Shut up!” Takuya hisses, lunging over and grabbing Ren by the collar, pressing him down into the bed with bruising force. “If you say another _fucking_ word, I – ”

 

He breaks off. His face is flushed, breath coming in quick, angry gasps. He stays like this for a time – head bowed, shoulders shaking, hands fisted in Ren’s shirt – until gradually his breathing returns to normal. His grip loosens and he pulls away, trying to assume his usual mask of unruffled calm and not quite succeeding.

 

“Was it all a lie?” he asks quietly.

 

Ren ponders this.

 

He remembers late nights in Yamano-hakase’s lab, bringing each other coffee to stay awake. (And yet Takuya would still fall asleep sometimes, fingers poised just above the keyboard, and Ren would reach across and finish the last few lines for him.) He remembers quiet mornings in the café, reading aloud the day’s news headlines, Takuya ‘hmm’ing thoughtfully whenever something caught his attention. (Ren always had Takuya’s tea waiting for him when he arrived – Earl Grey steeped for exactly three minutes with a single tablespoon of sugar.)

 

He remembers speaking candidly of his father and finding, for the very first time, someone who truly understood.

 

“No,” he says. “But that’s little consolation, isn’t it? Since you’ll never know which parts were real and which parts weren’t.”

 

Takuya’s laugh is both bitter and sad.

 

“Yes,” he murmurs, and cradles his head in his hands. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

 

.

 

.

 

Takuya doesn’t seem to want to let him out of his sight, but on the fourth day Ren convinces him to at least let him take a _bath_ for god’s sake.

 

“Come on, I feel disgusting right now,” he laughs, proffering up one of his fake smiles, and Takuya frowns at him for a moment before giving in.

 

The bath is upscale and flawlessly clean, just like the rest of Takuya’s apartment (more like penthouse suite, now that Ren stops to think about it). In the room outside the bath he peels off his clothes with a grimace and leaves them lying on the tile. He catches his reflection in the floor-length mirror and only grimaces further. He looks awful – hair matted and skin sallow, with finger-shaped bruises on his wrists and shoulders. Someone must have put them there, though he can’t remember who. The still-vivid scratch marks on his arm and the brace on his ankle really complete the image, he thinks wryly. He looks like a man on his deathbed.

 

In the bath he spends a good ten minutes pouring ice-cold water over his head again and again, faint shivers prickling his skin, relishing the feeling of the grime gradually washing away. (If only he could wash everything else away along with it.) When finally he lowers himself into the bathtub the water is closer to lukewarm than hot. It still dulls the throbbing ache in his ankle, though, which is good enough for him.

 

He lies back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, where steam is slowly beading into condensation.

 

Absently, he wonders how difficult it would be to drown in a bathtub.

 

The main problem is the depth, he thinks, frowning pensively. Staying submerged in such a small amount of water would be difficult, especially once your unconscious survival instincts kicked in. The surface would only be a few inches away and your entire body would be straining for it, every muscle screaming in protest, struggling desperately just to sit up and _breathe_. Without something to weigh you down, drowning in such a circumstance would be nigh impossible.

 

(But then again, he supposes, with enough willpower anything is feasible.)

 

Ren slips beneath the surface, the muffled whisper of the water enveloping his ears and mouth and nose. He opens his eyes and they sting for a moment before becoming accustomed. Through the veil of water the room seems to waver, looking warped and unreal. He parts his lips and exhales slowly, watching the bubbles as they float away, then grips the rim of the bath and pushes himself down deeper.

 

Already his lungs are starting to burn. His fingers twitch with the urge to pull himself up, but he steels himself against it. Drowning is supposed to be rather painful, he knows. But only for a time. In the end – the very last seconds before everything goes black – he imagines a sense of peace must come over you. Your vision darkens and your thoughts fade into nothing and you merely… drift away. Seems like a pleasant way to go.

 

There is no air left in him, now, and he inhales water, choking on it, amazed by the panic that floods through him instantaneously. Strange, how the body is always so desperate to keep living, even when the mind has long since given up.

 

It hurts, he thinks, as he feels the water flooding his throat, his lungs. It hurts but if he can keep it up it will all be over soon. Soon it will all be done and –

 

Above the loud pounding of his heart he can hear a muffled shout.

 

There are hands wrapped around him, then, pulling him up, and he has no strength left in him to struggle. He breaks the surface and he’s coughing, spluttering, retching up water, gasping frantically for air. It tastes almost sweet as he breathes it in. If he weren’t in such a state he would laugh at the irony. Takuya drags him out of the bath and they both fall to the floor, and Takuya is panting just as hard as he is, trembling from head to toe, unable to keep the fear out of his eyes.

 

“What were you… What the _hell_ were you trying to do?”

 

Ren smiles weakly up at him, body still wracked with shuddering coughs. “My apologies,” he whispers, throat sore and voice hoarse. “Must have fallen asleep.”

 

Takuya merely looks at him. His fear is melting away, now, turning into something _more_ – shock, disbelief, rage. His jaw clenches, and he punches the tile just left of Ren’s head, every muscle in his arm straining with palpable fury.

 

“Stop it,” he hisses, a dangerous edge to his words. “Just fucking stop it. I’m not an idiot, Hiyama. And I’m sick and tired of being lied to. I just... I can’t – ”

 

His voice falters and suddenly all the anger is gone too and there is nothing but a broken kind of sadness. He looks as if he might cry, and Ren is surprised by how much it hurts to see him this way. His movements are sluggish and difficult, but all the same Ren finds the strength to reach up and put a gentle hand on the back of Takuya’s neck. He pulls him closer until Takuya’s forehead is pressed against his chest, right above his heart.

 

“It’s alright,” he says, which may be the single greatest lie he’s ever told.

 

“My father is dead,” Takuya is whispering. “My brother is dead. I can’t do it, Ren. I can’t lose you, too.”

 

Ren can count on one hand the number of times Takuya has called him by his first name. The last time was after Yuusuke’s death. The time before that was the day Rina’s betrayal was brought to light. Remembering those times before, the sound of his name on Takuya’s lips makes something twist inside him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ren says.

 

And he is.


End file.
